


don't make me make you fall in love

by neomeruru



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anal Fingering, Breast Fucking, Casual Sex, Facials, First Time, Ignis Fucks, M/M, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Paizuri, Past Gladiolus Amicitia/Ignis Scientia, Promnis Week, Virginity, hookup, past Ignis Scientia/OMCs, past consensual underage sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-14 10:40:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17507057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neomeruru/pseuds/neomeruru
Summary: At the rest stop in Hammerhead, Prompto discovers two things about Ignis he would have never had expected:The first is that Ignis is really, really hot.The second... is that Ignisfucks.





	don't make me make you fall in love

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [a prompt on the FFXV kinkmeme](https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/5690.html?thread=11432762) where Prompto is blindsided by discovering that, under all those clothes, Ignis is super hot. A palate cleanser, after I've been so mean to Ignis the last few fics. :)
> 
> Also written for (and during...) Promnis Week 2019, for "First Time" (#2). It's being posted for the free day, though.
> 
> With thanks, as always, to the Ignis Whump discord for handholding and cheerleading; they're the real MVPs for enabling me even though no one even dies or gets beaten up or makes poor life choices in this one.
> 
> No content warnings for this one! Just some good clean porn.

Prompto had never been past the Wall before. He knew, objectively, that the city was surrounded by the Leidan desert, and that deserts were hot and dusty, but the subjective experience is another thing entirely. Especially when the 'subjected to' part of 'subjective' meant pushing however many tonnes of hot black metal for three hours in the midday sun. He's already got more freckles than he thought was possible to have on one person, and that tingle that heralds a really righteous sunburn developing over the next few hours.

A fine layer of dust covers everything in the caravan, even the quilts on the beds. He can feel it settle onto his skin, soaking up the damp from his shower. But it's cooler here than it is outside, at least, and a little bit more humid from four showers in quick succession, and besides, he didn't want Ignis to feel left out just because he got the last shower.

Not like Ignis couldn't, like, find his own way to the diner, obviously. It was just friendly. And he really kind of desperately wants Ignis to think he's friendly, at least, because it'll be a long freakin' trip if he starts wearing on everyone's last nerve when they can still technically see Insomnia. _If you can't be good at stuff, or crazy rich, or be super hot, you can at least be friendly_.

So Prompto had gotten dressed and sprawled onto one of the beds—queen beds on either end of the caravan, he didn't know they came this deluxe—and was scrolling through Moogl when he heard the shower turn off. He hadn't pegged Ignis as the kind of guy who took a long time in the shower, and he'd been right.

The bathroom door opens, letting out a cloud of steam into the dust-stirred air and blocking Prompto's view through the small hallway to the rest of the caravan. "Prompto?" Ignis calls, "Did you remove the toiletries bag from the armiger?"

Prompto eyes the black duffel at the foot of the bed. "Oh, yeah!" he replies, "Sorry, I'll put it back." He pushes himself up to put a hand on it and thinks really hard about the weirdness of just… dropping a physical object into nothingness. Maybe nothingness. Does it go into... Noct? His trainers had been of unclear about the 'armory of the kings' thing. Is that literal? Does Noctis know when it happens? If he dropped, like, a box of condoms in it…? Not that Prompto'd ever had a use for them before, obviously, but it doesn't hurt to be prepared—

Ignis interrupts his chain of thought just as he gets his hand on the duffel. "No need to exert yourself," Ignis says, as he maneuvers in the close space so the door can close.

Prompto freezes, which is a weird thing to think in the desert when you just spent the better part of an afternoon thinking you were going to melt into a puddle of people-goo and evaporate, but he does anyway.

Prompto's brain doesn't stop very often, so the sensation of all of his awareness narrowing in on Ignis is jarring. He can almost feel the traffic jam of his thoughts all bunch up behind one single catastrophic car crash: Ignis, who up until this point Prompto had barely ever seen without his _shoes_ on, is all but _naked_.

The first thing his brain registers is, obviously, Ignis. The second thing is a collage of every memory he's ever _had_ of Ignis up until this point, replayed instantaneously: gelled hair, shined shoes, shirts buttoned up to the top button, cufflinks, never one single centimeter of skin showing where it shouldn't, never a stain or a piece of lint or a crease where it shouldn't be. Perfect, inhuman, untouchable. Certainly nothing ever like this.

 _Oh, Shiva. Oh, Bahamut. Oh, shitting hell_. Ignis lets the door swing shut and walks into the bedroom while Prompto's brain continues to merrily spit out errors at the fact that Ignis is only _barely_ wearing a white towel, monogrammed I.S.S. and held up only by the fact Ignis holds it closed. His skin—miles and miles of it, pristine and pale— is flushed pink from the heat of the shower and dewy with condensation. His hair is damp and messy, towel-fluffed. He's not wearing his glasses, and that combined with his hair in his eyes makes him look suddenly exactly his age, more boy-next-door than supermodel. Prompto's mouth feels suddenly dry.

Ignis doesn't even look at him, sparing his attention only for unzipping the duffel and digging through it, which is good, because Prompto can't take his eyes _off_ of Ignis despite the growing hysteria that he's probably acting like a creep, a total loser who's never seen a naked body before, which is ridiculous, because Prompto's seen plenty of naked bodies, not just in porn but also in locker rooms, and not to mention his own body. But none of those hold a candle to the wet dream reality of _Ignis_ , who apparently under all those layers is built like a statue of a demigod.

Prompto's been through Crownsguard training, and been exposed to the endless visual buffet of beautiful, muscular bodies therein. Obviously Ignis had gone through the same training—probably more of it, honestly—and the evidence of that is right before Prompto's eyes. Prompto knows he's built like a runner, only recently graduated from being able to be described as 'scrawny'; Ignis is built like every piece of him was lovingly placed there by the Astrals themselves, from the elegant swoop of his collarbones to the whorls of blond hair across his pecs, to abs that at least rival Gladio's in definition, if not in mass.

Ignis makes a small sound of triumph and stands, holding a tube of—something, whatever, Prompto doesn't even spare it a thought. With his attention so thoroughly captured that it feels like everything happens in slow motion with Vaseline on the lens and cool jazz playing in this distance, he watches a bead of condensation roll down Ignis's chest, around one peaked pink nipple, down the deep girdle of his abs, and disappear into the suggestive folds of his towel.

"Nguh," is the sound that escapes Prompto then, more of an unconscious reflex as he tries to swallow with his mouth still hanging open. 

"Hmm?" Ignis replies, not even looking up from scrutinizing the the whatever-tube.

Prompto swallows again. It takes a few times, but it buys him a little bit of time to come up with something to say that isn't—

"Iggy... you're hot?!"

Smooth. Great. Incredible. Prompto feels a wave of heat race up his body and close over his head, like the waters of the ocean into which he is going to throw himself as soon as they get to Galdin. "Nope, that was bad. Didn't just say that," he says, all in a rush.

The mattress is too firm to even entertain the idea he might sink into it and away from the silent weight of Ignis's eyes on him. It's so quiet, he can practically hear the chocobos at the rental hut chirping. A car door slams somewhere outside. Prompto covers his face with his hands, like he's praying, and squeezes his traitorous eyes shut.

He's considering the merits of just standing up and leaving versus simply _expiring_ when Ignis makes a… a noise, like a snort, almost, that melts into the kind of full-fat-salted-caramel-extra-shot-latte kind of laugh that makes Prompto, who'd gone cold with fear again, warm all the way down to his toes.

"You sound surprised," Ignis chides him, and Prompto can practically feel the smile curling around the words.

Prompto cracks his eyes open to see Ignis exactly where he'd last seen him, tall and cut and perfect in every way imaginable, only this time regarding Prompto with a green-eyed gaze of amusement. Prompto immediately closes his eyes again and lets out a big breath of air into his clasped hands.

"Are you quite alright?" Ignis asks, and Prompto nods vigorously.

"Yep! Great! Just really enjoying this quality time we're having!"

Ignis laughs again, and there's the whisper of fabric and then the sound of the laminate of the walls bending. When Prompto hazards opening his eyes again, Ignis is leaning one shoulder against the wall, arms crossed elegantly in front of him and leaving the towel knotted over one hip, just barely concealing the shadowed place between his thighs. Prompto can follow one leg down to where it crosses the other at the ankle. Six, even his feet are perfect.

"And how is the crisis coming along?" Ignis asks, after Prompto manages to drag his eyes back up his body. He takes his time. "Have you always been interested in men, or is this a new development?"

"What?" Prompto squeaks, sitting up straighter on the bed. "Oh, no, no no no, no no, haha, wow," he stammers, raising his hands. "Men are— men are great. Super into men. And women. That's me, just a regular ol' man-and-woman-loving kinda guy."

One of Ignis's eyebrows rises, accompanied by a slow smile that feels like Prompto's been let in on a joke. "I didn't know," Ignis says, thoughtfully. "I'm usually quite good at intuiting that sort of thing."

"Yeah, well," Prompto stalls, scratching the back of his head. "Not even Noctis knows, so don't beat yourself up about it."

"I'm simply surprised," Ignis says, "If you make a habit of telling men that you find them attractive, you'd think our paths would have crossed before now."

"Not all guys," Prompto mutters. "Just the just the ones that are—" he averts his eyes and gestures expressively to Ignis's… everything, "—uh, you, I guess."

He probably should tell Ignis that it's all theoretical anyway, so he doesn't get bummed out about his gaydar being on the fritz, but just as he opens his mouth to speak, Ignis leans over and looks out the blinds. The room is so small that it puts him right into Prompto's personal space to do so, so close that Prompto can smell the cedar-scent of his soap.

The crack in the blinds spills a beam of light through the dusty air, briefly rimming Ignis's aquiline features and the fine dusting of hair on his jawline with a golden desert halo. There's a crackle of armiger light as he summons his phone, checks the time, and stores it away again before standing and fixing Prompto with a considering look.

"We should have enough time, if you're interested."

He's so close, Prompto has to crane his neck up to meet Ignis's gaze. "Wait, time for…?"

Ignis's head tilts to the side, ever so slightly. When Noctis does it, he looks like a dog. When Ignis does it, only makes him even more devastatingly attractive. "To do something about it, obviously," he purrs.

Prompto's heart leaps up into his throat at almost the same time everything else goes south. "To do—" he squeaks out. "Uh, um…"

For a moment, Ignis's calm smile wavers. The warmth that had been present in his eyes shutters as he takes a subtle step backwards. "Ah, my apologies. I've read you wrong."

"No!" Prompto blurts out, shooting his hand out to catch Ignis's fine-boned wrist. "No! No. You read that totally right. I'm just, I'm just a little surprised!" He swallows. "I mean… does that, like, work for you? Just like—" he lowers his voice and puts on a Tenebraean accent lifted straight from a soap opera, "'—hello, would you like to fornicate?'"

Ignis huffs a little laugh, the smile returning. "Well, yes, usually. Doesn't it work for you?"

"Buddy," Prompto replies, feigning utter seriousness. "There's no universe where that would work for me."

"Hmm," Ignis hums, and comes forward to put one knee on the bed beside Prompto's thigh. The towel parts scandalously high, all the way to his hip, revealing the silky curls right at the juncture of his thighs. It's only by the grace of a few inches of fabric that Prompto can't see where it joins the trail of hair coming down from his chest and abs. Prompto has to hold his breath to keep from passing out from how fast his heart is beating, so hard Ignis can surely feel it when he fans his fingertips across Prompto's chest and moves to slip his vest off of his shoulders. "Perhaps your skills lie more in seduction than in the chase. May I?"

Prompto doesn't trust his voice not to crack again, so he just nods. Ignis slides his hands slowly down Prompto's arms, taking his vest in his wake, and then back up until he's practically cupping Prompto's face. He swings his other leg up onto the bed, straddling Prompto's lap.

Their lips meet just as the towel around Ignis's waist finally loses the battle against friction. What would have been a momentous unveiling at literally any other time in Prompto's life happens in soft focus, right at the edges of his awareness as the warmth of Ignis's lips against his own arrests him entirely.

He's kissed people before, if it counts. Well, he's been kissed. Girls started really paying attention to him when went from caterpillar to butterfly in high school, and being close to Noct helped a lot with that. Technically, he's still the one being kissed right now, but it's so, so different. The weight of Ignis's body in his lap mirrors the intangible weight of Ignis's full attention on him, pinning him to the bed twice over. Of course Ignis kisses with this kind of single-minded determination.

For a guy who's made of marble, Ignis's lips are so soft. Prompto barely knows what to do with his own as Ignis kisses him. It's kind of startling how fast you can pick it up, though; Prompto can feel Ignis smile even as he's kissing him, as Prompto somehow manages to keep up.

Ignis tugs the hem of Prompto's tank top out from where it'd been caught between them and splays his hands over Prompto's stomach. Prompto spares one wild thought for how Ignis can probably feel the rough-smooth-rough pattern of his stretchmarks before Ignis, seemingly uncaring, dips his head to Prompto's neck.

"No marks, I assume," Ignis murmurs into his skin, between soft sucking kisses. "I wouldn't be surprised if you bruise like a peach."

"I—yeah—" Prompto manages, tipping his head back so Ignis can get right in there anyway. "S'probably a good idea." He's still trying to explain to _himself_ that this is happening; he can't imagine having to explain it to Noct and Gladio.

Well, there's one part of himself that doesn't need the explanation. Ignis shifts and Prompto can feel his whole body surge in answer, eliciting a noise of delighted curiosity from Ignis that goes straight to his dick.

"Oh, that's good," Ignis says, and rocks his hips like he's already riding Prompto. He laces his fingers behind Prompto's neck and arches back, pressing himself hard against Prompto's dick even through layers of towel and clothes. Prompto watches the little skull pendant of his necklace disappear into the faux-cleavage where his pecs press together between his arms.

"No need to be a gentleman, Prompto," Ignis reminds him, and Prompto blinks rapidly and shakes his head to clear it. _Six_. Alright. There's something he's gonna file away for later. He runs his hands up Ignis's hairy thighs, sucking his lip between his teeth as he looks down for the first time.

"Iggy," he moans, feeling his hands tighten on Ignis as he takes in the completely surreal sight of Ignis totally naked in his lap. All those trails and patches of hair connect in a thick thatch around his dick, which is hard and flushed dark. His foreskin looks so soft, Prompto can't help but run the back of his knuckles up it before tracing where it pulls away from the even darker head. Even fresh from the shower, Prompto's hit with the heady smell of sex and desire as he wraps his hand around Ignis's dick—Ignis's dick!—and gives it a few tentative strokes.

"Mm," Ignis hums in approval, and leans back to prop himself up on Prompto's knees. All of his lean torso stretches out before Prompto, begging to be touched; he runs his other hand up Iggy's taut stomach to where he can gently rub one pert pink nipple.

The noise Ignis makes is louder this time, suffusing Prompto with a warm rush of power as he does it again, rolling and pinching the nipple at the same time as he keeps stroking Ignis's slender dick. One of Ignis's hands comes up to pinch the other nipple, working it a lot harder than Prompto would go for right out the gate—but that's Ignis for you, knowing what he wants and stopping at nothing to get it. He matches the silent lesson Ignis is giving him, pulling and twisting Iggy's nipple until the whole area around it is pink and hot and Ignis's breath sounds more like a moan with every exhale.

"Damn, Iggy, you go hard," Prompto says, not even bothering to keep the admiration out of his voice.

Ignis laughs; a short, cheerful thing that transforms his whole face. Prompto's never seen him smile or laugh this much, and is kind of amazed all it takes it getting Ignis out of his clothes. "I don't often have the luxury of—ah—time," Ignis replies. "One learns to be quite upfront— _nn_ —about what they desire, when the opportunity arises."

"I'm still kinda surprised _what you desire_ is, uh, me."

"Don't sell yourself short, Prompto—oh," Ignis replies, gasping around that final _O_. His hips keep moving, thrusting himself into Prompto's grasp. "You have many admirable qualities, not the least of which are your willingness and your—" he lays one long finger against Prompto's lips with a smile. "—discretion."

Ignis's finger taps against his teeth when Prompto speaks. "And, like, I'm hot and you wanna bang like a screen door, right?"

Ignis's smile gets wider. "Speaking of," he says, leaning forward to take Prompto's shirt in his hands. "Off you go," he commands.

Together they get Prompto's shirt off, taking the opportunity to move up the bed. Prompto doesn't know how to arrange himself—sitting? Laying against the pillows? Is that too presumptuous? He doesn't wanna be, like, lazy or anything, but he's kind of paralyzed by choice. Luckily, Ignis takes the lead and crawls up the bed, turning so his back is on the pillows and his legs are splayed over Prompto's lap.

If Ignis looked good standing, he's fucking heart-stopping on his back. He crooks his finger at Prompto and Prompto goes to him as if on rails, bending Ignis's legs around him as he leans in to kiss Ignis deeply. Ignis's arms wrap around him, pulling him close, twining his hands in Prompto's hair.

He tries the trick with Ignis's nipples again, slipping both hands between their bodies to knead and twist the hard pink buds until Ignis is gasping into Prompto's mouth. The rest of his body writhes against Prompto's, sinuous movements that grind his gorgeous ass against Prompto's jeans.

"You… have a sadistic streak," Ignis pulls away to say. His cheeks have gone flatteringly pink, not like Prompto, who goes cherry-red at the least bit of exertion.

And it's not like Prompto gets off on pain or anything, really, but there's something in him that definitely responds to the way Ignis reacts when he applies a bit of force. He can feel it curling in the pit of his stomach, pulling everything tight like a coiled spring.

He pulls Ignis's nipples straight out, making Ignis inhale sharply through his nose and arch his back to relieve the sting, then swoops in to apply his mouth to one while he rubs the other with the pad of his thumb. Ignis groans, a sound that comes up from his toes, and clutches Prompto's head like he just needs him there more than anything. It's… yeah, it's good, and Prompto's just as surprised as Ignis that this is how it's going down, but a little encouragement is all it takes to turn Prompto into a dom, apparently.

He laves Ignis's nipple with his tongue, sucking it into his mouth. Ignis pulls on his hair in two big fistfuls, which makes his scalp ache sweetly like a really good head massage. Prompto shoves his hand between them, bypassing Ignis's dick to give his own a squeeze through his jeans, moaning into Ignis's chest in appreciation.

Ignis shifts up a bit in his lap so Prompto can make quick work of his belt and push his jeans down. Kneeling up to get them down farther deposits Ignis on the bed; Ignis's legs wrapped around him pull Prompto down as well, grinding their dicks together through the soft jersey of Prompto's boxers.

The part of Prompto's brain that's just constantly been screaming _what the fuck_ rallies at the hyperreality of feeling Ignis's dick rubbing against his own, only to be quickly and definitively silenced by what Prompto can only describe as the primeval urge to _fuck_. Prompto tucks his face into the slope of Ignis's neck as his hips stutter against that new hard warmth, incapable of keeping himself from making little grunts as he rides that instinctual need.

Ignis's hand slides down his back, fingers tucking into the waistband of his boxers and tugging them down from the back. The elastic gets caught on his dick and Ignis laughs as he frees Prompto from its clutches, and then it's just—Six, it's skin-on-skin, the impossibly hard and velvety length of Ignis nudging his belly as Prompto ruts against those washboard abs. Ignis gathers them both in his delicate hand and strokes them together, and Prompto just clenches his eyes shut and lets the shudder of contact rush through him, lighting him up from the inside.

 _Don't come, don't come,_ he despairs, feeling everything narrow to one beautiful point far off in the distance but coming closer with every stroke, like the spotlight on a train. Somehow, he makes it out of that first burst of pleasure without blowing his load right there, but it's not for lack of trying; Ignis's hand on their dicks is smooth and controlled even as his breath huffs unevenly past Prompto's ear.

"Can I— trouble you to use your mouth?" Ignis says, stopping partway through to take a sharp breath as his own hips lose rhythm. _I did that. I'm doing that,_ Prompto thinks, as Ignis regains his composure. "I'm loathe to rush you along, but if we stop to sightsee I'm sure our absence will be noted."

"Holy—yeah, fuck yeah," Prompto says, pushing himself up on his arms so he can look down the length of their bodies to where Ignis is pumping their cocks. "But, uh, full disclosure, I haven't done that before." At Ignis's questioning head-tilt, Prompto decides he may as well lay it all out on the table. "I haven't done any of this before," he admits. "First time."

Ignis's response is a single surprised blink. His hand slows. "You're a virgin? At your age, really?"

"Hey!" Prompto can feel his face heat up. "I'm only twenty, man!"

"Hmm," is Ignis's response, coupled with a few firm strokes of their dicks. Well, at least he's not stopping—kind of the opposite, actually. "I was fourteen. Well, sixteen, for penetrative," he adds, then his smile takes on a slightly wicked bent. "Your first time will go much more smoothly than mine, I hope."

Prompto can't help but laugh. "What, really? That's it? No telling me I should wait for my special person? Man, being horny sure is different when you're rich and hot."

Ignis leans up and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Prompto can feel his smile against his cheek. "Prompto, do I look like the kind of person who believes sex is a sacred union?"

"I mean," Prompto laughs, "with your clothes on, yeah!"

Ignis leans back against the pillows. "Something I've used to my advantage many times, I assure you." He reaches out with his free hand and Prompto feels that arcane pull, the displacement of air and reality as something materializes in Ignis's hand with a crystalline tinkle.

"You keep lube in the armiger?!"

"Among other things," Ignis demurs, taking his hand off their dicks to move farther up the bed, giving Prompto more room to move between his legs. "There are options, if you'd prefer not to use your mouth straight away… your ability to _handle a stick shift_ today notwithstanding, I have faith in you."

Prompto squints at Ignis, who looks infuriatingly placid for someone casting so much shade. "Are you trying to _tease_ me into sucking your dick, dude?"

Ignis puts his hands behind his head and fixes Prompto with an arch look, somewhat dampened by all that bare skin between them. "Does it work?"

Prompto clicks his tongue against his teeth as he pushes Ignis's thighs apart. Six, he's flexible; Prompto can practically get his knees to the bed. "Yeah," he says, as he gets on his stomach, "I think I can _rise_ to the occasion."

Truth is, even though he always thought his first time _was_ going to be something special—not candles and rose petals, exactly, but at least a little more romantic than fifteen minutes in a dusty caravan outside a truck stop—he honestly couldn't have had a better choice for the some _one_. Ignis is… Ignis is like a dream, like a model in a glossy magazine come to life, and being invited past the velvet rope of his untouchable facade is just… it's what he wanted this whole time: to be considered a peer, even if the naked part comes as a surprise.

And thinking of untouchable things he's suddenly finding extremely _not_ , he's finally up close and personal with Ignis's dick, which arches up proudly in front of his face. Face-to-dick, it's pretty intimidating—does he fit the _whole_ thing in his mouth, or…? Ignis strokes himself with his fingertips idly, tracing the crown of his head with a light touch while Prompto gathers his confidence.

"I would tell you to take your time, but alas…" Ignis makes an eloquent gesture encompassing the world outside. "At least, given the state I'm in, you needn't be precious with me."

"Been a while?"

The casual shrug of Ignis's shoulder belies how little he thinks of the question. "About a week or so, I suppose?"

Prompto laughs, and licks his lips in anticipation. "And that's a long time for you? People just lining up to hit it and quit it, huh?"

"I needn't go without for long, no," Ignis replies. "There are many people in the Citadel who find themselves with desires that are at odds with the demands of their careers; generally all one needs to do is introduce oneself to the right people."

Prompto shakes his head. "Nobles are wild, man," he says, then figures he doesn't wanna hear more about Ignis's secret wild sex life when he could just get on with being a part of it. He's watched enough porn to get a feel for what he's gonna do—has spent quite a few nights alone imagining it, dick in hand—so the only thing for it is to get in there.

Ignis lets out an encouraging noise when Prompto kisses the head of his dick, letting his lips go soft and sloppy around the crown. Ignis tastes like soap and something Prompto can only describe as _sex_ : salty, faintly bitter, like the last sip of plum tea in the summer. As he starts sucking, that flavour bursts on his tongue from the slit.

Not feeling super keen on taking the whole thing in his mouth right off the bat, Prompto wraps his hand around Ignis's shaft and starts pumping it in time with his novice rhythm. Ignis was right, though; already his dick is fully hard and throbbing in Prompto's hand. He takes what he can in his mouth, alternating licking with sucking and combinations of both, feeling out the way by listening to the noises that Ignis makes. It's not all that different than his fantasies, but infinitely better. There's no way his mind could have pictured the way Ignis's fingers slip through his hair, not pushing but guiding, or the way his abs clench under Prompto's hand, or the way his hips stutter when Prompto gets it right.

Eventually, he finds the rhythm that works. He can get most of it in his mouth, but doesn't need to; mostly he gets into the groove of licking and sucking on the head while he works the rest with his hand, and soon Ignis's hips are thusting in tiny, polite little movements like he can't help it.

Prompto hears the _click_ of the lube bottle from somewhere above his head. When Ignis speaks, it's with a breathiness to his voice Prompto's never heard before. "Ah, do you mind…?" Ignis asks.

Ignis's dick is plenty wet already, and Prompto can connect the dots. Extrapolate from historical accounts of the wild Hookup in its natural habitat, so to speak. "I—yeah, all right," he replies, and holds out his hand. Ignis pours some of the lube on Prompto's fingers and plants his feet high up the bed so his knees splay out and reveal the rest of him, shadowed and dampened with more blonde whorls of hair between his cheeks.

This part, Prompto's _definitely_ never done before, or anything like it, even on himself; it's pretty difficult to get any sort of deep angle like how he's for sure gonna get with Ignis like this. Sensing his hesitation, Ignis reaches around himself and separates his cheeks for Prompto, revealing the darker wrinkle of his hole. "One at first, to apply the lubricant, then I'll be quite fine with two and your mouth," he coaches Prompto with a gentle voice. "Curl your fingers upwards. I assure you, you'll know when you've gotten the hang of it."

Prompto laughs a little, feeling winded by the surreality of his life in this moment. "Yes, sir," he says, and lightly touches his fingertips to the freshly-scrubbed furl. After a few careful rubs to get everything wet, his first finger sinks in with no resistance—only a deep hum from Ignis that makes Prompto's cheeks turn even brighter red.

Ignis is so _hot_ inside, hot and muscled and so soft. His dick leaps in Prompto's other hand, throbbing in time with Ignis's pulse and with the way the muscles of his channel clench and relax around Prompto's finger, seeming to pull him in. Prompto spares a look up at Ignis's face when his finger is in to the knuckle; Ignis's expression is serene with pleasure, eyes closed as he sucks on his lower lip. The blinds stripe his lean torso with shadow and light, highlighting every dust mote in a halo around his head.

Remembering his instruction, Prompto wriggles his finger out after a few exploratory thrusts and returns with two, the way tighter but no less welcoming. Ignis lets out an encouraging groan, shifting so his legs fall even more impossibly open. Prompto can feel Ignis's body flex and relax around him, squeezing his fingers. The intimacy staggers him, even as he starts to move them in and out. 

"Mmn," Ignis moans, rocking his hips slowly on Prompto's fingers. Prompto tries to follow his lead, stretching and curling in that tight space. After around a minute of breathless agony on Prompto's part, Ignis tenses and lets out a louder groan, pushing himself straight down on Prompto's fingers in the right place. "There, yes, keep doing that," he gasps.

Prompto curls his fingertips in towards that spot and Ignis jerks on the bed, back arching as he cries out. "Yes, yes, yes," he repeats, releasing his hold on himself to pull at his nipples again as Prompto inelegantly thrusts his fingers in there and hopes for the best. Disbelief that he is _inside_ another person—that he is responsible for the way Ignis writhes before him like a man coming totally undone—rushes through him like a cold wave, followed closely by a rush of heat that makes his stomach bottom out in his groin. It's thrilling and terrifying, and he's so turned on he doesn't even know what to do with himself.

He almost forgets that Ignis had asked for his mouth, but the frenetic pulse of Ignis's dick in his hand drags him back to the present reality. It's harder to coordinate his hand and his mouth—haha, _hand-mouth coordination_ —but Iggy does a lot of the work himself as soon as Prompto wraps his lips around Ignis's shaft. Prompto keeps his fingers curled and his mouth fuckable as Ignis works himself into a state between those two points. Salt blooms on Prompto's tongue, weeping from Ignis's slit as Ignis's moans hit a fever pitch.

"C-close," Ignis manages, tapping Prompto lightly on the head. Instead of pulling away like Ignis probably expects, though, Prompto rallies one more time and takes Ignis's cock in to the limit, sucking loudly, flexing his tongue and probably making a big unsexy mess of everything. With a loud cry that Ignis stifles with his knuckles shoved in his mouth, Prompto feels his mouth flood with Ignis's come, hot salt and bitterly viscous. 

"Mmmnf," Prompto struggles, tilting his head up to keep it from overflowing and dripping down Ignis's still-hard shaft. Ignis's cock falls from his mouth with a wet _slap_. "Mmn," he grimaces, trying to convince his throat to swallow the load of come.

Ignis looks melted to the bed, but he lifts one hand to make a placating gesture. "You can— you can spit it out, if you need, I won't be offended," he says, sounding faint and warm like a man right on the cusp of falling asleep, though his prim, self-satisfied smile belies that.

Prompto glares at him and throws his head back, overcoming his body's natural reluctance to swallow slimy weird shit. It makes him shudder, but he makes a big show of sighing with gusto and showing off his empty mouth to Ignis, who laughs.

"Overachiever," Ignis says.

"Okay, kettle, I have a pot for you to meet," Prompto accuses, pointing at Ignis, who laughs harder and grabs him by the wrist to pull him close and into a filthy, searching kiss.

Prompto resists for all of a few seconds, embarrassed by the heady taste of sex coating his mouth, but Ignis's tongue begs him to relax into it. He's always kinda been put off by how sometimes people kiss like they're trying to climb into the other person through their face, but in being so high on the feeling of dragging that orgasm out of Ignis he can't help but get into it, shoving his tongue alongside Ignis's and taking just as deeply of his mouth.

Ignis's hands come up to scritch indolently on the back of Prompto's skull, slow and luxurious as they part for breath. Ignis's lips are kissed pink and wet. "And you?" he asks, nudging their noses together for a shallow kiss. "How would you like to finish?"

A veritable buffet of choices flashes before Prompto's eyes, most of them implausible due to time constraints or the state of Ignis's dick softening between them. He's still so hard it's almost an ache, though; taking some attention away from himself to blow Iggy did absolutely nothing to diminish his little buddy. If anything, the sight of Ignis completely unbuttoned and soft after coming only makes Prompto want him more, like in that article he read about the weird intrusive urge people get when they see something so cute that it overloads their brain and makes them want to hurt it.

"Prompto?" Ignis coaxes.

Prompto blinks away the parade of carnal delights marching through his thoughts. "Yeah, yeah, sorry—" he mutters, pulling himself up to straddle Ignis's lap. Ignis's hands laced behind his neck go with him, squeezing his pecs between his biceps.

Prompto runs his hands up Ignis's unbelievable body, taking care to trace the artificial cleavage between his pecs. The idea comes to him quickly. "Can I rub off on your tits?" he asks.

Ignis's eyebrows shoot up to his hairline as he looks down at where Prompto is staring. "On my…? Are you… certain you're not straight?"

Prompto fixes him with an unimpressed look. "Pretty sure I just had my fingers up _your_ butt, dude."

Ignis's smile is slow and mischievous. "Ah, yes, I remember," he says, as he picks up the lube from where it'd fallen into the bedsheets. He drizzles it over Prompto's dick and between his pecs, then tosses it to the side.

Prompto moves up Ignis's body until he's pinning Ignis's arms against his sides, squeezing his chest together again to make a shallow, glistening channel. He strokes his dick a few times before pressing it between Ignis's pecs, holding it down with his palm as he takes a few experimental thrusts.

It's a little improv, yeah, but the sight of Ignis pinned underneath him, staring up at him with with a sated, heavy-lidded smile, more than makes up for any shortcomings. And he's so plush here, the perfect ratio of hard muscle and soft fat, with his hand over top to complete the sensation; Prompto can feel it conform to the shape of him as he bullies himself into that space and starts thrusting.

With his free hand, he fondles Ignis's chest—rolling one firm mound in his hand, kneading the whole muscle while pinching the nipple between his fingers. The noises Ignis makes in response are different now, after he's come: soft, breathy noises through his nose, biting his lip as a particularly firm pinch makes him gasp. Prompto realizes with a start that they've been staring at each other, Prompto just as pinned by that intense gaze as Ignis is by Prompto himself.

Despairing, Prompto recognizes there's no way he's gonna last. He's keyed up from how fucking hot Ignis is when he comes, not to mention everything before, and the dual onslaught of rutting against Ignis's chest like this while Ignis does everything in his power to hasten him along—he doesn't have a damn chance. He doesn't even fight it, just lets himself be pulled along to the inevitable conclusion.

"Yeah, close," Prompto grits out. "Where— where can I come, Iggy?"

Ignis doesn't answer with words, just locks eyes with Prompto and opens his mouth.

"Oh, _Six_ ," Prompto groans, everything in him cinching up tight like a drawstring bag. "Oh, fuck, oh—"

He can't take his eyes off Ignis as he comes, feeling that tension snap suddenly with a rush of blood in his ears that sounds like an explosion, complete with the ringing in his ears afterwards. Come splatters up Ignis's chest, up his neck; some lands in his open mouth, sure, but most of gets _everywhere_ else, pooling in his deep collarbones and dripping off of his jaw.

Mortified, but also tripping high on the endorphin rush, Prompto wipes at the mess on Ignis's face with tingling fingers. Just as he's about to give up, giggling weakly, Ignis captures his fingers in his mouth and sucks them clean. His tongue twines between his fingers, sinuous and terribly skilled, and Prompto mourns that he totally blew his shot to have that tongue on his dick, but he's otherwise pretty fuckin' sanguine about the pearly white mess he's made of Ignis, like, _yeah, I was here_.

Ignis shifts in discomfort under Prompto and Prompto moves quick to scramble off of him, sprawling out onto the bed with a thump that expels a fresh cloud of dust into the golden sunbeams. He throws his arm across his eyes and exhales, feeling himself get heavy with languor.

After a few moments—not even minutes, of course, they'd probably already made themselves conspicuous enough—he can hear Ignis push himself up to sit on the bed.

"I'll need to rinse off," Ignis says, without heat. "If you can do without, you should join Noctis and Gladio in the diner before it gets much later."

Prompto can practically feel Ignis retreat back into himself, already tucking Prompto away into a neat little box labelled 'historical data'. It stings, a little, like getting an injection: he realizes the necessity, but also, _ow_. "They don't know, huh," he asks, peering at Ignis from under his arm.

Ignis shoulders go slowly up, then down. "Gladio and I have crossed paths before—we're much the same in this regard—but we found it too difficult to mix business with pleasure. I have few indulgences, and this is one of them."

Ignis casts a glance back at Prompto. "Furthermore, my affairs are private, and I take care to be discreet. I trust I can expect the same courtesy from you?"

"What—I mean, yeah, Iggy, of course," Prompto replies, reaching out to tangle his fingers with Ignis's. "But, I'm in on this whole thing now, though. Not just, like, the sex stuff—the whole thing. The _business_. The roadtrip. Being here for Noct."

A flicker of discomfort passes over Ignis's face, and he squeezes Prompto's hand before he stands. "Forgive me. You are very dear to Noctis, and that alone should have given me pause before jumping into bed with you. I didn't mean to imply that I consider your contributions inconsequential."

 _No, but you thought it pretty loud just now,_ Prompto thinks, but doesn't say. That's an inside thought—plenty of those, when your best friend is a prince and your best friend before that was a stray dog. He feels his smile stretch his face. "Yeah, of course. It's different with the other guys, I get it."

"Thank you for understanding, Prompto," Ignis says, looking relieved. He tips his head to the side. "And… should the mood strike you again while we are on the road, you need only ask."

Prompto props himself up on his elbows. "What, like, fuckbuddies? You wanna be roadtrip fuckbuddies?"

Ignis nods. "A test drive, so to speak."

"And if fucking gets weird between us? Too much business in your pleasure, or whatever?"

Ignis laughs and looks chagrined, which is an interesting look on a naked man. "Gladio and I seem to have survived it." He looks down the short hallway to the bathroom, then back to Prompto. "Do you require the lavatory?"

"Nah," Prompto replies, and gets to his feet. "Go wild. I'll wash up in the kitchenette."

Ignis nods again and, for a moment while they're face-to-face and naked, looks tired-eyed and loose-limbed in a way that curls dangerously around Prompto's heart. "Please go make my excuses," Ignis murmurs. "I will join you when I can."

"For sure," Prompto replies, as the door shuts between them.

—

The bell above the door at Takka's jingles when he enters, prompting Noctis and Gladio to look up as he ambles to the table.

"Ugh, finally," Noctis drawls. He moves his feet off the bench seat, still tapping away at his phone in the familiar cadence of Kings Knight. "We ordered already."

"No prob, man, I know what I want," Prompto says, sliding in beside him. "Just, like, the biggest burger. Put it right in my face!"

Noctis laughs, and Prompto looks over to see Gladio looking at him over the top of the novel in his hands. "Took you a while," he observes, voice dry as hell. "Thought I'd have to come in and get you, the way Princess was carrying on."

"Oh, yeah!" Prompto laughs, scratching the back of his head. Cool, cool. Look cool. "Ignis, uh, really wanted to ride me about what happened today."

Gladio licks his thumb and turns a page, still staring Prompto down. "Did he now," he deadpans.

Pinned, Prompto giggles nervously.

Noctis comes to his rescue. "Lay off, Gladio. Styling this chocobo butt takes time," he says, tugging one of the spikes of Prompto's hairstyle.

Gladio grunts and goes back to his book, not before shooting Prompto another dangerous look. "Waste of time," he grumbles.

The waitress calls out to them that she'll be over soon, and Noctis clicks his tongue at something he'd been ignoring in his game, and just like that, the tension that'd been building up in Prompto bleeds away. He opens the menu but doesn't see it, just kind of looks out the window at his reflection and, beyond, the caravan where Ignis was probably buttoning himself back up into poise and respectability.

**Author's Note:**

> I write! I draw! I make julienne fries! Your comments literally sustain me! Join me [on Tumblr](http://chaoslindsay.tumblr.com) or [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/neomeruru) for my fanart and other stuff!
> 
> This fic is remix-friendly: I give blanket permission for non-commercial translations, podfics, remixes, inspired fanfic, and fanart! Just let me know where you put it, so I can make sure others see it too!


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